


angel

by OnyxSphynx



Series: newmann one-shots [74]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Guardian Angels, M/M, ish, newt realising that sHIT THATS NOT HATE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 22:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19049812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphynx/pseuds/OnyxSphynx
Summary: Newton Geiszler: reluctant guardian angle





	angel

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "I don't actually remember the full words of the prompt but I could have sworn there was one about one is a terrible angel assigned as the other guardian angel and he doesn't care the other is cute because he does NOT LIKE the assignment. I think it was from that giant prompt Master list you had?"  
> prompt: "I was an awful angel and as punishment I have to be your guardian angel and wow your super cute and nice but I still hate you”

In the beginning—

Well, there was a beginning, or something; Newt wouldn’t know, given he wasn’t, well,  _there_. Either way, there’s a whole mess at the Start, what with Creation and all, and, well—Newt didn’t pay attention, really.

At some point though, he suspects someone up and said “Fuck  _this_ ,” because honestly, that’s fair, things were getting  _boring_  and, well—well, that person was sort of Newt, yeah, so.

* * *

The point is, he’s been stuck on Earth for the past two decades. So he does what he does best—bounces between interests, sleeps too little, sleeps too  _much_ , gets a few degrees, gets some trauma, you know, everyday things.

“Sorry,  _what?_ ” Newt hisses at the angel by his side.

Samel offers nothing but a small tilt of the head. Newt resists the urge to bounce on his feet unsuccessfully, and this time, Samael scowls, says, “You’ve gone native, I suppose,” in an annoyingly staid tone.

“Uh,  _yeah_ ,” Newt says. “But that doesn’t give you the  _right—_ ”

“Who are  _you_ to question the Plan?” asks the other.

“Fuck you,” Newt replies, “I’m an atheist.”

This time, Samael graces him with a stern look. “You’re an  _angel_ —albeit one who’s soon to fall out of Grace if you do not do this.”

“But  _me?_ ” Newt whines, “c’mon, dude, I’m not guardian angel material— _especially_ not for Doctor “Call me by anything but my title and get murdered by my glare” Gottlieb.”

“Would you rather fall from Grace?” asks Samael—rhetorical, because who the  _hell_ wants to  _fall from Grace_ , that’s what gets you  _killed_ , or worse, and fuck, even being basically, for all intents and purposes,  _human_ , is better than falling from Grace. Newt offers a nervous laugh, and Samael gives him a small nod. “Good, then. We are at an understanding,” and—

“Fucking  _angel_ ,” Newt huffs after he stops coughing his lungs up from the smoke created by the other’s disappearance.

Hermann, who has, somehow, managed to appear from out of nowhere, scowls at him imperiously. Newt, not willing to deal with  _him_ , too, turns on his heel and walks in the opposite direction.

See, the thing is—

The thing is, Hermann is—

Confusing.

Like, Newt hates him, sort of, which is weird, because angels are always harping on about “loving all of the Power’s creations” which is, like,  _dumb_  but Newt’s never hated anything before, not even brussel-sprouts, which are awful, but—

What can that tightness in his chest, that stabbing sensation whenever Hermann’s words are just a bit too biting, a bit too personal,  _be_  besides hate? 

The first time Newt actually has to  _do_ anthing, though, isn’t for over a year.

It’s winter, though one can hardly tell given that the temperatures almost never drop bellow ten degrees. Hermann, however, somehow manages to catch a nasty strain of something that leaves him trembling like a leaf under his parka, hands shaking as he tries to write on his chalkboards.

Newt barely manages to ignore it for more than half an hour before the buzzing in the back of his head gets to be too much. “Alright, you know what?” he says, “fuck this,” and snaps off his gloves, strides over the Line of Demarcation. “ _Hermann_ ,” he says, “Hermann, buddy, you need to lay down,  _stat_.”

“But my  _work_ —” Hermann protests, only to be cut off by a rather violent sneeze that leaves him blinking down at Newt dazedly, cheeks slightly flushed in a way that’s kind of charming.

Newt hates the fact that that thought crosses his mind, scowls, because he  _hates_ Hermann, and his stupidly nice voice, and his stupidly nice  _face—_

“ _Yeah_ ,” Newt says, “no. C’mon down, dude, let’s get you into bed.”

Somehow, he manages to get Hermann both down the ladder and down the hallways to his quarters. It’s a bit of a minor miracle, honestly—Hermann’s swaying rather alarmingly a good portion of the way. 

Hermann crashes in his bed and Newt doesn’t see him for eighteen hours.

Newt expects that to be that.

What he  _doesn’t_ expect is to develop something equivalent to a spider-sense in regards to Hermann.

(Hermann-sense?)

In the next four years alone, Newt loses track of the number of times he has to intervene to make certain Hermann doesn’t die—often because the physicist is a stubborn  _bastard_ who won’t stop, hell or high water be damned.

“Can you at least  _try_ and not die?” Newt snaps, the words slipping from his lips, two days after Hermann has a seizure from their Drift. 

Hermann, laying in the white on white on white medical cot, offers him a raised eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware I  _was_  trying,” he says, drily, “though I appreciate the implication that you are, if nothing else, annoyed by it.”

“Oh fuck you,” Newt says, without bite.

Hermann’s lips twitch. “That wouldn’t be advisable, given our current states,” he says, deadpan, and Newt’s suddenly hit with the shell-shocking clarity of,  _Oh damn, it_ isn’t  _hate after all_.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [three-black-cats](https://three-black-cats.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
